


you wait so long

by triggernometry



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: (just in case), Body Horror, F/F, YOU get butterflies in YOUR stomach over big gay bandits, boneset does not get butterflies in their stomach over big gay bandits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggernometry/pseuds/triggernometry
Summary: A cranky swamp witch gets a gentlewoman caller.





	you wait so long

**Author's Note:**

> Supposed to be part of a larger thing but the larger thing is in wip hell and I liked the way this turned out enough that it can reasonably stand on its own for the time being.
> 
> My dragons are basically big ole furries if that's worth noting to anyone; Boneset's a pearlcatcher and Henbit's an imperial.

Boneset is at the door before Plaskett can knock; they hear the floorboards on the porch creaking under the weight of the gator lady's bulk long before she actually makes it all the way up the stairs. They take a deep breath as they hear her settle to a stop just on the other side of the door.

Boneset opens the door to reveal Plaskett, hunched so low she's bent almost double to fit under Boneset's porch roof.

“Yes, what,” Boneset says.  
  
Plaskett lowers the gnarled mass of her left fist back down to her side. She is, as ever, largely indistinguishable from a lump of peaty swamp bank: the tough, dark green scales of her hide are stippled and striped with mud, bits of foliage, moss, and the skittering gleam of beetles half-invisible in the dusk gloom of sunset over Leechroot Landing. A few fireflies come to life in the trellises of what used to be her wings, illuminating the trails of swamp honeysuckle vine and making the flowers thereof seem almost to glow from within.

Boneset cranes their head around Plaskett's shoulder to get a glimpse of the mud trail leading up the stairs and over the porch floorboards.

“I assume you'll take that with you when you leave,” Boneset says.

“You have a visitor,” Plaskett says. “They got lost looking for you.”

Boneset sighs. “Well, my clients wouldn't be my clients if they were any smart,” they say.

“No client,” Plaskett says. The gator lady turns slowly in place to point with an enormous claw toward the far end of the front yard, right at the border where the bonewood trees and dusky thorn brambles have been spared Boneset's tireless clear-cutting efforts.

It's Henbit standing there, hat in hand and shoulders drawn in a little to make her look less like the overgrown skira she is, like she's actually embarrassed to be here – but Boneset can see the imperial's fangar-what-ate-the-goldthroat grin even in the gloom, even from this distance.

Beside her stands Lucky Shot, her Wastebred. The beast looks up from stripping shelf fungus from the trees at the edge of the yard long enough to flick an ear in Boneset's direction and snort. The fading light trailing from the canopy above catch the Wastebred's eyes, making them flash like mirrors in firelight.

“Hi there,” Henbit says. The still swamp air carries her voice easily across the yard.

“For fuck's sake,” Boneset mutters. They meet the harvest moon glow of Plaskett's eyes. “Friendship _over,”_ they hiss at her.

Plaskett gives a low rumble in her throat: a chuckle. “Well, I'll leave you to it,” she says, and starts back down the stairs.

Boneset stares down at the mess the gator lady's left behind on their porch. “You're supposed to take that _with_ you,” they say, but Plaskett's already slipped into the swampwater at the edge of the clearing and vanished.

“For fuck's sake,” Boneset mutters again.

“I meant to swing by _before_ suppertime,” Henbit says, starting across the yard. “But – well – I got turned around a bit. Lucky your friend was there to help out, even though I don't mind saying she scared the pellets right out of me. She is _hee-yuge._ ”

“Mm-hm,” Boneset says. They move to stand at the edge of the porch, square in the middle of the topmost stair, arms folded, staring down at Henbit with what they hope looks like an unimpressed face. “What do you want.”

“Wanted to swing by, say hello to my favourite swamp witch.” Henbit stops at the foot of the stairs. The interlocking bands of purple and white on her face make her expression almost difficult to read in this light – the white sticks out too white, the purple almost black by contrast. Still, Boneset can tell she's smiling.

  
Boneset is not one to get butterflies in their stomach, and they definitely are _not_ getting them now. Even if Henbit's smile is sweet as shoo-fly pie.

“ _And_ ,” they say.

“ _And_ I got you something.” Henbit shifts her grip on the brim of her hat to free up a hand. She draws what looks like a wadded kerchief out of one of her hip pouches and offers it to Boneset.  
  
Boneset regards the offering coolly and does not move.

Henbit, unruffled, plops the hat on her head to free up both hands and unwraps the kerchief to reveal the contents thereof.

“I got you a frog,” she says, holding her hands out for Boneset's inspection.

They're honestly surprised. Henbit _actually_ brought them something. They would've assumed she just needs help identifying an enchantment or maybe has more bullets she needs to get picked out of her gut or who knows what – but no. An honest to goodness _gift._

Boneset steps down two of the stairs to get a closer look. “That's a toad,” they say.

“Oh.” Henbit squints at the toad in her hands. “It is? Sorry, I'm real bad at critters. Uh, you want it anyway?”

Boneset lets the muscle in their jaw work a bit, trying to decide what accepting the gift will cost them. In the end, they reach out and take the toad gently from Henbit's palm. It's a surprisingly docile creature – or maybe it's just tired from riding in a belt pouch for who knows how long.

“I suppose there's room at the inn,” Boneset says, running a fingertip gently between the bumps of the toad's eyes. Boneset looks up to see Henbit's beaming at them, looking as pleased as anything that the gift actually worked out. Her smile is – well, it's a lot. Boneset, who is not in the business of getting butterflies in their stomach, looks away and stares intently at the toad's beady gold-drop eyes.

“Got it from some trader,” Henbit says, without prompting. As usual. “Saw it and thought of you. Plus, I don't think they can live in jars for, like, _forever._ Figured you'd know how to treat it right.”

Boneset starts back up the stairs, toad in one hand, the trailing end of their mane in the other, side-stepping around Plaskett's mud trail. They pause at the door to look back. Henbit's still at the foot of the stairs. Her hat is once more in her hands. She gives Boneset another sweet-as-shoo-fly smile.

“You may come in,” Boneset says.

Henbit has to stoop to get in through the door, but at least she's prepared for it, this time. Boneset recalls with something akin to fondness the first time Henbit had tried walking through the door, when the imperial had first been in their house, healing from the gutshot that had dropped her like a fly in Leechroot. Henbit had just about knocked herself cold missing the low-slung beam of the door frame. It'd been a whole thing.

“Smells good,” Henbit says, closing the door behind her. The house is small, without much in the way of individual rooms – Boneset had never planned to have much company, so extra doors and walls seemed a waste of good wood, nails, and hinges. The kitchen dominates one end of the house, filling it with the smell of stewing stinglashes simmering on the stove and a ranthpone threatening to burn in the iron skillet beside them.

“ _Hold_ this,” Boneset says, shoving the toad into Henbit's hands without waiting for a reply and hurrying over to the stove to rescue dinner. They manage to flip the 'pone before it gets any ideas, but only just. The bottom is a little too crispy, in Boneset's opinion, but it'll be edible, at least.

Henbit's still by the door, watching Boneset handle dinner with a slightly amused expression. “Breakfast for supper?”

“Food is food,” they say, giving a half-shrug.  
  
Henbit gestures with her loosely-cupped hands still holding the toad. “Where should I put this?”

“Out back, by the pool,” Boneset says. They give the pot of stinglashes a stir; they're finally edible. “Then wash your hands and set the table.”  
  
“What, I'm invited to supper?”  
  
Boneset looks up; the imperial's got that fangar-what-ate-the-goldthroat grin on again, like she planned to show up at suppertime all along. Which, knowing her, she probably did.

“I'd _planned_ to just eat in front of you, but I _suppose_ you may join me,” Boneset says. “Toad. Pool. Wash up.”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes.” Henbit's voice trails off as she heads out the back door and down towards the frog pool.

She's gone for long enough Boneset just about enters a blissful moment of thinking they're alone – but then she pops her head back in the door, followed by the rest of her in short order, giving a loud enough exclamation of _hoo-ee_ to startle them.

“That little thing sure can _hop_ ,” Henbit says, moving toward the wash stand. She gives a soft little laugh and shakes her head. “Sorry it took so long, had to say how-do to all the kids. I think they actually like me now. I coulda even petted that real bright one you got, whassername, Milton?”

Boneset pauses mid-stir, listening hard to the sound of Henbit washing her hands.

“But then I remembered you said _that_ one was poison, so I didn't. What a how-do _that_ would've been--”

Henbit continues jawing, and Boneset lets out a breath they didn't realise they were holding before resuming the slow stir of the stinglash pot.

The imperial busies herself with setting the table, moving with greater familiarity around Boneset's house than they would've expected – or are entirely comfortable with, honestly. Henbit's only been in their house the once, while mostly delirious with gutshot, and has been gone for – well, it's been at least a month since the last time she came to darken Boneset's door. Her visits are infrequent and seldom make it beyond the porch, mostly owing to Boneset's natural gift for being an unwelcoming host.

When did she find the time to get comfortable in their house?

Henbit gets the bowls and cutlery out without even having to ask which cabinet is which, and fetches the other chair from the porch to stand back at the table. She even helps Boneset bring the pot and skillet over and cuts the ranthpone into equitable pieces while Boneset ladles stinglashes for them both.

They eat. Henbit is, finally, quiet, interjecting only the occasional compliment on the food in between comically large bites of 'pone and slurping stinglashes like segmented noodles. She has the table manners of a qiriq, but Boneset's long since forgiven the imperial for her more gauche behaviours.

Boneset's not entirely sure when _that_ happened, either.

Henbit cleans up after supper, without being asked, and Boneset doesn't bother trying to dissuade her. They can feel the old aches settling into their bones especially much tonight, and just thinking about scraping the skillet and pot clean is exhausting. Henbit whistles a tune while she cleans, pausing only occasionally to tell some anecdote from her travels in the Wasteland beyond Leechroot: the merchant she bought the toad from, an especially exciting miasma-aurora she saw, and a run-in with a bonepicker over a bag of jerky – _that_ one is embellished slightly to make Henbit come out looking the hero there, Boneset is sure.

When all's said and done, Henbit comes back to the table and drags her chair a little closer to Boneset's. She sits and leans forward in her seat.

“Okay, so,” she says, splaying her hands between them.

“Of course,” Boneset says. They can't help feeling a stab of disappointment; of _course_ Henbit would show up when she wants something from them. She wouldn't show up out of the blue _just to say hello._ The feeling of being a gigantic moron makes Boneset's mouth twist up and their eyes burn. They blink rapidly to dispel the ache in their eyeballs.

Henbit pauses, looking uncertain. Boneset sets their jaw. “Go ahead,” they say. “Show me your cute little trinket.”

“Right.” Henbit plucks her hat from where it's been resting on the back of the chair and feels along the inside band, pulling out what looks like some kind of necklace and holding it up for Boneset's inspection.

They really just want to grab it and throw it. It's not anything to do with the item itself – there's no immediately noticeable aura of enchantment around it, nothing to make it especially bothersome – it's more to do with the persistent feeling of being a gigantic moron. Boneset resists the urge and gently takes the necklace from her hand, careful not to accidentally touch her.

“Pulled it off a weird corpse I found,” Henbit says while Boneset turns the necklace over in their hands.  
  
“Charming,” they say.

“Listen, the guy was in a whole passel of pilgrims, all right.” Henbit leans closer. “They'd been out there a week at least. All of 'em picked at, all of 'em rotted up, but not this guy. Sure, I thought, he must've come later, right? Nope. Clothes all worn out like the rest of 'em's – and he was _under_ some of the _really_ grody ones.”

Boneset looks up. Henbit is giving them an intense look; she's clearly troubled by the experience.

“Bones, I thought the guy was _alive_. He was _fresh_ ,” she says. “Only thing he had on him was this.”

They look back down at the charm in their hand. It's not an especially inspiring design: it appears to be bone, carved in the rough shape of a branch with creosote flowers on it. Boneset gives it a lick on one corner.

“Ugh,” Henbit says, leaning back a little bit. “ _Why.”_

“It's bone,” they say.

“Yeah, of course it is, you don't gotta _lick_ it to see it's--”

“Dragon bone.”

Henbit stares at the charm for a minute, eyes wide. Then she slowly, slowly looks up at Boneset. “ _Why_ is that a thing you know?”

Boneset gives a dry laugh, which turns into a cough as something disagrees with the mirth in their chest. They roll one shoulder, feeling something go _click_ in their ribs and give a little stab of pain. They set their jaw and breathe in through their nose.

“You all right?” Henbit's look of horror has been replaced with one of concern. They look away; pity is _so_ annoying.

“Fine,” Boneset says. They hand the charm back; she handles it with considerably less enthusiasm than she had initially. “I doubt it's a corpse-don't-rot spell. Probably one of those greasewood maguses. Scavengers don't like to eat them, I hear.”

“He was _really_ fresh,” she says.

“Well, the Queen Creosote grants everlasting life, so I've heard,” they say, waving a hand dismissively. “But I've never known Her to specify what _kind_ of life you get out of it.”

Henbit looks the charm over, then wrinkles her nose. “Gross,” she says. She folds the charm into a kerchief and tucks it in her vest pocket. She looks back up at Boneset. “You sure you all right?”

“Yes.” Boneset pushes away from the table and stands. “You need provisions for the return trip?”

“Huh?”

“I assume you'll be on your way, now you've had your little trinket appraised.” Boneset can feel the bitterness welling up behind their tongue, making their voice sound pinched and – pathetic, really.

“Bones.” Henbit stands. She takes a step forward, closing some of the distance between them. Boneset tenses – but she doesn't touch them. “You think I came all the way out here just 'cause I found some weird guy's culty necklace?”

Boneset doesn't answer. They've set their jaw tight, and can feel the back molars grinding almost painfully together. They drop their head a little, losing sight of Henbit's – frustratingly _earnest_ – face. They stare into the worked leather of her vest. It's a different vest than the one she had on when she first came to Leechroot, of course – _that_ one was cut seven ways to sundown to make getting to the bullet wounds easier. It's a nice vest, clearly made by somebody with a greater eye for detail than the last one. The bottom trim is carved in simple geometric patterns, while the lapels are far more detailed.

It takes entirely too long for them to realise the lapels are decorated with boneset flowers.

“I got the frog – sorry, the _toad_ first, held onto it so damn long I'm surprised it didn't just die in protest,” Henbit continues. She gives a little laugh. “I thought you'd think I was a big dummy, bringing you a frog, uh, _toad_ , but I couldn't think of anything better. Found the weird guy and the necklace on my way through the Deep Country for the hundredth time 'cause I just been riding circles out there, trying to come up with a convincing cover story for coming back here.”

Boneset does not move, not even to blink. They are not in the business of getting butterflies in their stomach, so they can't account for the miniature whirlwind happening just south of their heart right now.

Henbit raises one hand, and Boneset shies, instinctively wary of touch, even though the thought of Henbit's hand in theirs makes a weird little spike of warmth creep up the side of their neck. She lowers her hand again, and they feel a cold pang of regret.

“I brought you the necklace 'cause I know you're all into that weird stuff.” Henbit's tone is so facetious that they _have_ to look up – sure enough, she's got that self-satisfied grin on her face again, wide enough to show off her silver-capped molars. “Plus, now I _know_ you're some kind of backwoods cannibal witch and _all_ of my friends will be jealous.”

Boneset snorts. They reach out, slowly, and take Henbit's hand. The imperial makes a startled little noise in her throat but doesn't pull back, does in fact seem to gladly volunteer her hand to the cause of being folded against Boneset's. Her skin is warm, the palm rough and callused and not at all as soft and smooth as theirs. It's at least as lovely as they imagined. Probably more.

  
“Please,” Boneset says, in a voice so soft they can scarcely feel the breath of it passing between their teeth. “You don't _have_ any friends.”

Henbit laughs a little. “Well,” she says, “I'm fixin' to do myself one better.”


End file.
